AN: Well, look who's back. I'm gonna skip the apology this time, surely its getting old at this point. All I can say is life is busy, and I'm not actually a writer. I'm here when time allows it, but I am truly sorry that it takes so long sometimes.

Quick note: I'll be rewriting some of the earlier chapters. No big changes; just some wording and some grammar. Apparently, I just didn't know how to use commas before - funny how things change.

As always, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited or followed this story. You guys are the absolute best, and I would have given up on this long ago without you.

Chapter Six: The Price of Magic

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The team discussed strategy deep into the night and retired in the early predawn hours. The evening was largely defined by arguing and more arguing. Though Constantine insisted that magic couldn't be scripted and that concrete plans would only get in the way, Oliver and the team were uncomfortable with the exorcist's plan to just improvise. Oliver insisted that strategic planning would allow the team to offer technical support and exploit any holes in Darhk's defense that may appear during the battle. Constantine merely scoffed at that rebuttal and reminded the team that they didn't possess magic or any understanding of it. Naturally, this led to more arguing and every member at some point wondered if this partnership wasn't for naught. This, coupled with the poorly disguised flirting between Constantine and his sister, was enough to send Olivier over the edge.

Still, despite the struggles, it was ultimately decided that Oliver would go with Constantine and assist the demonologist in his fight when the time came. The exorcist had caved suspiciously fast to this demand and refused to explain what he wanted the Green Arrow to do; Olivier had to remind himself time and time again that this was Constantine's show, not his. Meanwhile, it was decided that the rest of the team would focus on clearing out Darhk's goons and providing the infiltration team with the easiest path to the magician.

With the plan roughly laid out, a hardfought compromise between Constantine and the team, the next day was as normal as normal could be for a bunch of vigilantes hiding out in their secret lair. Constantine's presence was just another obstacle to maneuver in their otherwise odds lives; so in many ways, he fit right in with the team.

The morning was spent in training; each team member sparring against one another and honing their skills for the upcoming battle. Constantine merely watched in amusement as an impromptu tournament formed: Canary vs. Canary, and Diggle vs. Thea, with Oliver filling the open slot. Despite battling their own teammates, the resulting fights were passionate and fierce; no one held back against their opponent and everyone gave their all to demonstrate their skills. Not for the first time, Constantine found himself thankful magic wasn't as physically strenuous as martial arts. Granted, magic carried its own price, and he could certainly throw a punch as well as the next bloke; nevertheless, he didn't envy the resounding thud of Diggle's strong punches or the whipping sting of Thea's high roundhouse kick.

In the end, the tournament ended with a fierce round between Thea and Oliver; both fighting with abandon and reminding the team of the natural sibling rivalry the two rarely had the opportunity to explore anymore. During the fight, the older team members actively sided with the younger Queen, calling out encouragement and secretly hoping to finally see Oliver bested by a member of the team, particularly his younger sister.

However, it wasn't meant to be; Oliver finally managed to pin Thea with a particularly nasty move he hadn't used since Lian Yu. Nevertheless, despite her defeat, Thea sprang up with a grin on her face.

"You know, I almost had you back there," she panted with a smile, accepting a towel from her brother.

"Believe me Speedy, I know," Olivier laughed. "Remind me not to piss you off any time soon."

As the rest of the team congratulated Thea on her near victory, Oliver caught Constantine's eye from where he was quietly conversing with Felicity.

"What do you say John," Oliver called out, eyes glinting with humor. "Wanna go a round?"

Constantine snorted. "Hardly," he responded. "I'm not too proud to admit when I'm out matched. It's a handy trait that's saved me on more than one occasion."

"Come on, I never said you couldn't use magic," Olivier answered. "If I'm supposed to go against Darhk, I'll need to know what to expect from a magic user."

Meanwhile, drawn by the conversation, the rest of team abandoned their water break and crept closer to the sparring area.

"Oh, you wanna go against magic then. Well, I suppose I can take a moment and educate you," Constantine responded, making a show of getting up from his chair. He turned to Felicity and dug around in his pocket. "Here luv, hold this, won't you?"

Felicity looked quizzically at the peacock feather he made her get the other day.

"You never know when you may get an itch, you know? Best to be prepared," he said with a wink.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Felicity accepted the feather without a word.

Wiping his hands loudly, Constantine strode over to Oliver and confidently plucked the vigilante's bow along the way.

"Well, if you wanna have any sort of chance against me, its best to give it your all," the magician taunted, tossing the weapon to Oliver.

Thrown off-guard, Oliver caught the bow hesitantly. "John, are you sure -" he started.

"Oh, come off it, mate, I can more than handle your little toy there," Constantine answered impatiently, gesturing with his hands for the other man to hurry up.

Flushing slightly, Oliver accepted his quiver from Diggle and strapped it across his back.

Hesitantly, Oliver assumed a position across from the Brit and nocked an arrow. "You ready?" he called out.

"Oh, just get on with it," Constatnie muttered, assuming his own position: legs squared with his shoulders and hands raised slightly. Though the team couldn't feel it, he was gathering his magic around him and drawing in the magic around him to feed his stores. Goosebumps rose on his arms as his flesh nearly crawled with the pent up energy.

So in tune was he with his surroundings, that he felt more than saw Oliver raise his bow and release an arrow. The trajectory, he noted, placed the arrow directly in line with his leg. A painful blow to be sure but hardly life threatening; apparently the Green Arrow was going easy on him.

With the slightest flick of his index finger, Constantine nudged the arrow and forced it to amend its flight path slightly. Instead of becoming embedding deep in his thigh, the arrow instead buried itself into the wall slightly behind him, it's shaft vibrating with the impact.

Oliver blinked in shock. Knowing his aim was true, there was no logical explanation for the arrow's path; yet there it was, driven into the wall beside his true target.

Grinning at his shocked expression, Constantine gestured with his hands for Oliver to try again.

Now confident that he wasn't about to turn their ally into a petulant pincushion, Oliver drew his bow again and shot four arrows in quick succession. He again refrained from following through with hand-to-hand combat, curious to see how Constantine would meet the attack.

With a slight smirk, Constantine raised his hands and focused the magic around him into a shield. No doubt he could handle these arrows the same way to dispatched the last; however, this exercise was just as much about showing off as it was about training, and John Constantine would never miss the opportunity to cut Oliver Queen down to size.

As an afterthought, he muttered a phrase under his breath to give the shield some color. Absolutely and completely unnecessary, Constantine would be the first to admit it. Yet, it wasn't every day someone had a captive audience, so a little flair could be excused. At least, that's what Constantine told himself when the air around him exploded in a vibrant golden sparks as the arrows struck his shield.

Judging from the shocked gasps behind him, the extra effort wasn't wasted on the team and even Oliver seemed a little star struck.

Still, the vigilante recovered quickly and reached into his quiver to fire off some more arrows with lightning speed. Tiring of this game, Constantine rolled his eyes slightly.

"Secare," he hissed, flicking his wrist sharply to the side.

Across from him, the Green Arrow's bowstring suddenly snapped, shocking the vigilante into a stunned and priceless stupor.

From somewhere behind him, Thea let out a barking laugh.

Accepting the unspoken challenge for what it was, Olivier adjusted quickly and closed the gap between them. Spinning his unstrung bow like a makeshift quarterstaff, Olivier unleashed a powerful blow to the side of the magician's head and steeled himself for any unforeseen retribution from the magician.

Retribution that never came; instead of making solid contact, the bow passed straight through Constantine and the figure before him shimmered slightly, before dissolving in a burst of blinding light.

With a stuttered cry, the Green Arrow cast his gaze around wildly and spotted a trench coat in the corner of his eye. Spinning to his right, Oliver desperately sought to get his bearings and forced any thoughts of how from his mind. During this motion however, he failed to realize the pressure building around his left ankle.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Constantine tightened his grasp on the force attached to Oliver's ankle and pulled.

Caught completely unawares, Oliver yelped as his leg was pulled out from under him, and he fell on his back in the middle of the Foundry. Ignoring his own heavy breathes and the laughter behind him, Oliver glared darkly at the ceiling above him. "Magic," he hissed under his breath.

Light footsteps approached him and Oliver sighed as a shadow fell over his face.

"You ready?" John Constantine asked innocently, eyes glinting in the light as he offered Oliver a hand.

From his prone position on the floor, Oliver sighed again and accepted the help, wincing slightly at his team howled at him.

"Why do I get the feeling you're just playing with me," he asked Constantine with a self-deprecating laugh.

Constantine simply shrugged. "Well mate, it's pretty easy when you have no defense against magic, and rely on your body or your bow. Simple systems like that? Well, they're any magicians dream: mess up one thing and your entire attacker falls apart."

Oliver nodded seriously, seeing the lesson for what it was. If John could disable him this easily with simple tricks, it didn't take a genius to figure out that he wouldn't stand a chance against real magic or Darhk.

"You really meant it then, when you said Darhk had just been toying with us," Oliver asked softly.

"Aye mate, he could've ended you and your team ages ago," Constantine responded just as seriously.

"Yeah, ok. I see your point now," Olivier answered truthfully. "But why did you agree to have me go with you then, if you know how little I can offer?"

"Ah, that's because I have a special job for you," the Brit responded. "And you're probably not going to like it."

Looking between Constantine and his snickering team, Oliver considered that.

"You know John," he teased good naturedly, "I'm not sure I've enjoyed anything you've done so far. At this point, I'd be afraid if I did."

Constantine merely smirked.

"Come on then, I had enough embarrassment for one day, thank you very much," Oliver said, "and I could use some lunch, Big Belly?" he announced to the room.

From the resulting cheers, Oliver assumed that was a 'yes' and turned to the exorcist. "You want to come? I'm buying."

Grimacing at the memory of the last Big Belly meal, Constantine screwed his face up slightly. "Oliver, mate, I appreciate the offer," he started. "But with Damien Darhk in town, it's best if I don't go around showing my face. I've got something of a distinctive look, and I'd rather catch him by surprise," he finished.

Oliver nodded his understanding, "We'll bring you something back," he promised.

If Constantine's disgruntled look lingered still, Oliver ignored it as he and the team made their way out of the Foundry. Giving him a pitying look, Felicity paused beside him on her way out.

"I'll bring you something green or, at least, not covered in grease," she whispered conspiratorially.

Constantine sighed in relief. "You're a lifesaver, luv," he replied, "I may be damned to hell, but no need to hurry the process, right?"

Felicity looked at him in slight confusion, but hurried to catch up with the team, her bright heels clacking against the floor.

Finally alone, Constantine sighed heavily and cracked his back. While the team certainly meant well, it was difficult to be constantly surrounded by so many strong personalities. How Oliver does it day in and day out, I'll never understand, he thought to himself. After all, there was a reason he usually ran solo. Even Chaz and Zed weren't always around; rather, they tended to appear just in time for a case or when he occasionally called. Even then, he still did a number cases on his own.

Speaking of his own team, Constantine grabbed his dusty brown bag, which had been forgotten in the corner over the course of the past two days. Running a hand through his hair, he placed the bag on the abandoned table and started digging through its contents. When he had packed this bag, he had done so under the assumption he would be returning a lost soul to its body. He certainly hadn't packed with a life-threatening duel in mind. Though, who knew what laid in its depths; even Constantine hadn't reached the bottom of the hexed bag, and he had tried.

Muttering under his breath about shoddy planning and inconvenient necromancers, he started making an inventory of items and began a list of items he hoped Felicity could help him with. While he had plenty of spell ingredients at the millhouse, he prefered to keep the various aspects of his life separate and didn't want to involve his own team in this mess if he could avoid it.

"Lamb's blood, femur of a saint," he muttered under his breath. "No, no, no, worthless, annoying… no," he continued.

"Ah!" he cried out in the empty room. "I've been looking for this for ages!" With a laugh, he pulled out an aged Sex Pistols concert t-shirt. "I mean, not particularly relevant but good find… I bet Chaz put it in there, the annoying bastard was always jealous he missed that show," he murmured darkly.

Placing the shirt reverently to the side, he eyed the growing pile next to him and felt his frustrations rising in turn. With a groan, he reached back in.

"Why don't you organize your shit," he mocked under his breath as he pricked his finger on a loose dagger. "One day your life is gonna count on something in that bag, and you won't be able to find it," he continued.

"Well, Chaz, I don't see you volunteering to clean this bloody thing out, you self righteous prick," the Brit growled. "No, instead you're just going to find my cold body one day, see the bag and say 'Serves him right.' I swear, I will haunt your fucking arse," he spat.

"Ugh, finally!" With a deadly glare, the exorcist pulled out a long wooden board. Pointedly ignoring the fact that physics demanded the board, nevertheless the pile of items next to him, should not fit, Constantine clutched his prize.

"Gopher wood should do the trick quite nicely," he addressed the empty room, ignoring how his voice echoed slightly in the silence.

Scanning the room around him and its lack of windows, Constantine just shrugged and placed the pile under the nearest ventilation shaft. Rubbing his hands together, he paused long enough to consider one thought; I hope this place doesn't have any fire alarms… Surely that wouldn't make any sense.

With a wary glance at the ceiling, he shrugged. "Ignis," he whispered. Immediately, bright flames flickered to life under the wood, eating hungrily at the dry fuel. After a moment's pause, he drew a cigarette and lit it in the flames.

Taking a long drag of the cigarette, Constantine returned to the table and grabbed a miscellaneous dagger. Stealing his nerves for what was about to happen, he returned to the fire and place the blade deep within the flames.

Ignoring the smoke building above him, he removed his shirt and tie, and waited. One cigarette later, he wrapped his hand in the castaway shirt and pulled the dagger from the flames.

"Fucking Damien Darhk," he muttered as he eyed the burning tip warily. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned to blade against his own forearm and drew it quickly across the skin.

Light enough that the blade did not cut and quick enough to avoid permanent burns; Constantine thanked his wards in that regard, he used the knife to sear a series of runes into his skin. Ignoring his trembling hand and pausing to reheat the dagger on occasion, Constantine worked through the sigils he had created the night before. Forearms, shoulders, feet; each placed in a strategic position.

After many long and painful minutes, Constantine could feel himself fairly wilting under the dagger's intense heat. Biting back a bone-deep groan, Constantine placed the blade in the fire for the last time and held out his right forearm. Looking at his shaking left hand and the precise runes on that forearm, he left out a dark laugh.

"Of course I'm fucking right handed," he chuckled weakly. "No spell for ambidexterity."

Gritting his teeth, he grasped the knife again, more than ready to be done with this.

"What are you doing!" a horrified voice cried from the other side of the room.

Shocked, Constantine dropped the knife and jumped shakily to his feet, raising his hands defensively.

Across the room, Felicity and the rest of the team stood in horror at the site in front of them: the fire, the smoke, the knife and the raised burns across Constantine's shirtless body.

Taking in their expressions, Constantine lowered himself slowly and groaned. "This is why I work alone," he muttered.

Running forward, Felicity threw the food she was carrying onto the table and dropped to the floor beside him. The team followed on her heels; Oliver directing Diggle and Thea to grab medical supplies with a look.

"Now, wait a minute," Constantine started, backing away from the gathering mob. "Sweetheart, it's not what it looks like. Though, I don't know what else it would be, so maybe it's exactly what it looks like," he rambled in slight bemusement.

"John, what is going on," Oliver asked with dangerous calm.

Sticking his chin out defiantly and standing tall, Constantine refused to be intimidated by Olivier's towering frame. "I told you once mate, magic comes with a price. This is just the price of this particular spell," he answered darkly.

Diggle and Thea returned with bandages, ice and disinfectant. Passing the supplies to Oliver, they stepped back with the rest of the team and let Oliver deal with the mad exorcist.

"John, I didn't know that this is what you meant. If I had known, I would have agreed to a different plan, I wouldn't have let you -, Oliver started.

"You don't let me do anything Oliver," Constantine cut off sharply. "I'm not part of your bloody team, and you have no business directing me in the occult. These signals will amplify the light-qualities of my pyromancy, and lessen its dark qualities."

"But John, look at yourself," Felicity cried out. "Those burns, surely there was another way."

Constantine shook his head. "The signals only work if they have a connection to fire. Ash, smoke, none of it is strong enough to channel this magic. Without an anchor, the magic will burn me from the inside-out and consume me; believe me, this is the best option."

Biting her lip helplessly, Felicity turned to Oliver.

"John, at least let us treat those," the vigilante started.

"Touch those burns, and I will hex you into next week," the magician growled. "If you touch them, you will corrupt and pollute the channels. Making all of this," he gestured to the fire, "worthless. Leave it."

"John," Oliver started helplessly.

Fighting through the waves of frustration and pain, Constantine snarled. "You asked for powerful magic and powerful magic must be guided through physical channels," he snapped. "Did you think I was just going to show up and wipe away your problems, Oliver? Wave my hands and make Darhk disappear? I told you, this was real. He isn't some pretender; now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish up here so we aren't all killed later."

Ignoring the eyes on him, he fumbled for the knife and efficiently burned the last of the runes against his forearm. One by one, the team quietly left him to his business. If anyone was concerned about the smoke, the fire or by Constantine himself, they kept it to themselves.

As he finished the last rune and dispelled the fire, Constantine decided he really couldn't care less. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into his chair and ignored the concerned glances sent his way. Putting his head down, his last thoughts were miles away with his own team as he drifted to sleep.

And if the team was a little extra quiet that evening during their patrols, no one said anything or mentioned the Brit sleeping at the table. Some things were left better unsaid anyways.

... And that's all she wrote. Don't worry, I'll be back: I'm on break and pretty excited to get back into this. Reviews give me life: what did you like, what did you hate and what would you like to see? Always open for suggestions!